


times that are broken can often be one again

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, It's Time Travel Though, Mentions of Pregnancy, Multi, Or A Weird Dream You Decide, Polyamory, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: The moment the lights come on, Shane senses that something is wrong.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej/Sara Rubin
Comments: 49
Kudos: 190
Collections: Buzzfeed Poly April, Shyanara Fest 2020





	times that are broken can often be one again

**Author's Note:**

> Happy last day of Shyanara Fest 2020! Thank you everyone who joined in this low-key fun fest, y'all make me so happy. And thanks to the folks at the book club server who, when I told them about the plot, demanded I finish this WIP.
> 
> Yes I know I rolled my eyes at the tags too. I'm like this. Sorry not sorry.

Sara goes still the moment Shane picks his coat up off the hook by the door.

“Where are you going?” She asks, visibly shaken, and Shane shrugs as he slips his arms into the sleeves. Moments ago he could feel them both on the verge of shouting out their feelings, and he’s ready to do anything to avoid that kind of confrontation. Sara’s the _last_ person he ever wants to raise his voice at, especially when it’s himself that he’s fighting with, not her.

“I need to think, and I can’t do that here,” he says, clearing his throat. He feels as though he’s on the edge of crying, or maybe screaming, but he’s not sure which. “Not when you’re looking at me like I’m about to ruin everything.”

Although, he’s sure she has every right to look at him like _that_.

He picks up the car keys from the bowl by their door, and Sara hiccups, as though holding back a sob.

“Please don’t go, I want to talk about this,” she begs, “I don’t understand why you’re so scared, I don’t understand—”

“I just gotta think about this some more, that’s all,” Shane cuts in.

“You had to get cold feet now?” Sara presses, “After we’ve spent so long talking about it? You couldn’t have done this months ago, before I got my hopes up, before I started to think maybe you felt the same way about him as I do?”

“I _do_ feel the same way about him as you do!” Shane exclaims, whirling around to face her, arms spread wide. Sara doesn’t _flinch_ exactly — she’s not afraid of him, and he’s never given her a reason to be — but she does step back, giving him a wider berth to fling his feelings around in. “Why can’t you understand that I have so much more on the line here?”

“I fucking— I _know_ , Shane, I know you think that telling him our feelings — _our_ feelings _—_ could fuck everything up. But can’t you just trust me? Can’t you just… god, the way he _looks_ at you, you don’t even see it.”

Shane sees it. The way Ryan looks at him, the way he looks at Sara, the way he looks at _everyone_ with those eyes. Like he has an endless well of love inside of him, and he can keep drawing from it, and it’ll never run dry.

“I’m going for a drive,” he says, quietly, and Sara’s arms come up around herself, protective. She chews on her lower lip, and Shane sees how she’s looking at him now, the hurt the can barely conceal.

“When will you be back?” she asks, and Shane shrugs. It could be minutes. It could be an hour.

“Dunno,” he says. “Get some sleep, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

“Impossible,” Sara breathes, and Shane can see the tears swelling up in her eyes, so he turns away before he has to see her cry. He’s too weak a man to walk away from that.

“I’m serious, don’t wait up for me,” he says, and pulls the door behind him when he goes.

It’s already late, so the building is quiet as he makes his way down to the parking lot. He connects his phone to the car’s BlueTooth, fastens his seatbelt over his chest, pulls out of the lot, and doesn’t think too much about where he’s going. Ask Shane where this sudden bout of cold feet came from and he’d lie and tell you it’s been building for months. The truth is, he can pin it right down to that very afternoon, when Ryan had shuffled into the elevator next to him, smiling sleepy and satisfied in that Friday-Feeling way.

_“Do you think we could keep doing this forever?” he’d asked._

_Shane, looking out of the corner of his eye, casual as though he wasn’t drinking in every drop of the sunshine Ryan emanated, fondly asked, “You don’t want more?”_

_The elevator pinged and they stepped out into the foyer. October setting sun spilled in through the windows, and Ryan had looked every bit the embodiment of Fall, tan in a rusted orange hoodie. His warm, dark, tired eyes._

_“Got everything I need,” he’d said._

It had gripped Shane tight during his entire commute home, clutching icily at his heart all through dinner and eventually into his ensuing argument with Sara.

_Ryan’s content as he is. I can’t mess this up for him. I can’t ruin his happiness._

The roads are unusually empty as Shane drives, but he doesn’t complain. He takes a left and then takes a right, cruising through quiet residential areas. It’s warm, so he cracks the window as he drives.

There are no sirens in the distance. Los Angeles is quiet, and Shane doesn’t notice.

He and Sara have been talking about it for months, testing the waters with Ryan, getting ready to make a move and make their intentions known. Never once did Shane stop to think that Ryan might be happy the way he is. He’d been too caught up in the idea of it, reading too deeply into Ryan’s easy affection and the softer intimate tones of his voice, that he didn’t stop to think that maybe he was doing just that: reading too deeply.

Shane realizes he’s heading in the direction of Ryan’s house. He pulls over, does a less than legal u-turn, and goes back the way he came.

He’s almost home when it happens, something a little… odd.

A stretch of road, pitch-black as he drives through it, even with his headlights on high. There’s nothing around him but the dark, and he slows to a crawl, squinting ahead in the hopes of seeing anything, a road marking or a lamp post or a street sign.

The music from his phone cuts out, and Shane swears, looking down at the console to his right where his phone rests. When he looks up, not even a split second later, he’s back on the street.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, pulling over onto the roadside, looking around, borderline frantic but mostly just disoriented.His phone is stone dead, not even blinking miserably at him when he plugs his charger in. The car’s dashboard clock says 00:01.

Shane realizes his heart is racing and takes a slow deep breath. _Don’t panic. It’s late. You shouldn’t be driving. Just go home_. It takes him a few minutes, but he eventually starts the car up again, checking around him as he pulls back out into the quiet street. He’s not far from home, it doesn’t take him more than ten minutes before he’s pulling into the parking lot again. There’s someone already in his previous space, a brand new Toyota Something, which means he has to drive further than usual towards the empty back of the lot.

He feels strange. He wonders if Sara will be mad at him, or if she’s already asleep. Maybe she’ll just be relieved that he’s back, regardless of whether or not he’s come to a decision about his own inner turmoil.

.

The walkway up to their floor seems brighter than before, like maybe it had gotten a fresh coat of paint since Shane had left earlier. He puts it down to the fact that he was more upset when he was leaving, not paying attention to his surroundings.

His keys still in his hand, he slides the apartment key into the lock and pushes the door open, reaching for the lights when he finds himself in the dark.

The moment the lights come on, he senses that something is wrong.

There are boxes everywhere, and the walls are half-empty where prints and posters have been removed. There are no books on the bookshelves or near the TV console, the coffee table devoid of its usual clutter.

The last thing he notices is the breakfast nook, a fresh crisp white coat of paint on the walls; the leaves Sara had painted there when they moved in are nowhere to be seen.

The panic returns to him, his heart _pounding_ frantically in his chest as he looks around him. Surely Sara couldn’t have done all this in the time since he’d left? There’s no way she was _that_ upset with him? Was she kicking him out? Was she leaving? _No! No… she wouldn’t. Not without talking it through first, right?_

Shane hears clattering and hissing in the hall behind him, and wheels around, expecting to see Sara, expecting to get some answers. Instead, he finds Ryan edging around the corner, wielding— his fucking katana.

Several thoughts swarm Shane’s brain all at once. Firstly, why is Ryan here? Secondly, he looks _strange._ Thirdly, why does he have his goddamn fucking sword in Shane’s apartment? And finally, why is he in pajamas?

Ryan’s eyes quickly go wide and terrified at the sight of him, and he takes a step back against the wall behind him, breathing heavily as he lowers his weapon.

“Shane?” he croaks, and Sara peers around the corner then, and she too suddenly goes from confused to terrified.

Not surprised, Shane notes distantly. Both of them are _terrified_.

Suddenly, Sara makes a noise Shane’s never heard her make before, swaying out of sight as she cries, this low mournful noise that makes Shane’s hair stand on end. He hears her footsteps retreating, watches Ryan watch her stumbling down the corridor. He turns on Shane again, looking about as livid as Shane has ever seen him.

“What the _fuck_?” Ryan barks, “The fuck are you doing here? Where the hell have you been?”

Shane looks around him in disbelief at the state of the apartment. He has no idea what could even be happening right now.

“I, I went for a drive—” he says, quiet, confused, before Ryan steps forward and cuts over him.

“FOR TWO FUCKING _YEARS_?” it’s a roar he’s never heard out of Ryan before, so surprising that it takes him a minute to process what Ryan’s actually saying.

_Two—_

_Two years?_

“What?” Shane breathes. “I wasn’t gone that long—”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Ryan hisses, “If this is a joke, it’s not fucking funny, Shane. Do you even _know—_ ”

“I wasn’t _gone_ that long,” Shane fires back, voice rising with his panic.

_The walls, painted. Trinkets in boxes all around him. Ryan, with new lines around his tired eyes. Sara looking at him like she was seeing a ghost._

Shane stumbles back, his calves meeting the sofa as he automatically sits, face in his hands. He can hear Ryan talking at him, furious, but he can’t make out any of the words. He’s underwater. His heart is beating too fast. He can’t. He can’t _breathe_.

He has all the pieces of the puzzle, but the whole picture just makes no sense. There’s no way he’s just forgotten two whole years of his life, right? This has to be some kind of cruel joke.

_Sara wouldn’t do that to you. Ryan wouldn’t._

When he can finally bring himself to look up, he finds Ryan standing on the opposite side of the coffee table, his mouth drawn into a hard line, arms folded across his chest.

He looks— different. There are new lines on his face, and— he looks strong, but softer than Shane remembers. Chunkier, if he was to be impolite. There’s something not quite right about his face.

He’s not talking anymore, just watching Shane warily.

“What happened?” Shane croaks when he can find his voice again, when minutes have passed, “I was only gone a couple of hours, I swear. I only…”

Ryan’s face goes through a journey that Shane doesn’t have the mental faculty to follow, brow furrowed as he walks around to take a seat at the other end of the sofa, facing Shane across space between them.

“Okay,” he says, no longer yelling but still not quite as gentle as Shane is used to. “I’m going to ask a question, can you try to answer it for me?”

Shane nods.

“What date is it today?” Ryan asks him.

“October 23rd,” Shane says, and when Ryan nods, he adds, “2020.”

Ryan stops nodding.

“No, that’s not right,” his voice tremors, but Shane isn’t sure if it’s fury or fright, “Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m fucking sure,” Shane hisses. “Are _you_?”

Ryan sniffs hard, sudden, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose.

“This isn’t funny,” he whispers. “It’s not funny, Shane. This is the furthest thing from funny.”

“I _know_ it’s not fucking funny,” Shane snaps back. “You’re about to tell me it’s fucking, 2022, or some shit and I’ll lose my goddamn mind.”

“It _is_ 2022,” Ryan rasps, throat tight like he’s about to cry. “And I’ve no idea where you’ve been these last two years, but I have a feeling you don’t either.”

.

No one says anything for a while.

Ryan gets up to walk down the hall, and Shane hears him going into the bedroom, but there’s no word from Sara. If she’s awake, if she’s making any noise at all, Shane can’t hear her. Ryan returns and shakes his head, and even Shane recognizes is for the _don’t ask_ it is.

The clock on the wall says 2am, but apparently time means nothing anymore so Shane doesn’t look at it for too long.

“What do you remember?” Ryan asks, eventually, and Shane rubs his hand over his face, sighing.

“Sara and I were having an argument, and I went for a drive to clear my head. I was gone for less than two hours before I drove back here.”

Ryan doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off Shane. The katana rests on the couch next to him.

“Well it wasn’t less than two hours,” Ryan says, stiffly.

“Fucking _think_?” Shane snaps, and they both fall silent again. Ryan is hard to look at, which has never been a problem for Shane in the past. He finds himself looking everywhere else to compensate, and the more he looks, the more he finds.

The cardboard boxes, indicative of some sort of move, but Shane gets the impression of moving _out_ rather than moving _in_. Some of them lay open, filled with trinkets Shane doesn’t recognize. A stray, yet-unpacked photo frame sits next to the TV; Sara and Ryan at Disneyland beam out at him, but Shane thinks they don’t look as happy as they should. He doesn’t remember taking the picture. It looks too recent.

Suddenly he’s wondering again what Ryan is doing _here_ , of all places, at this time of night?

Shane clears his throat.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asks, and _fuck_ is he afraid of the answer. 

Ryan shakes his head, “I— I don’t think I can talk about it.”

“I need to know,” Shane presses, prickly, “Part of my life is _missing_ from me, Ryan, you can’t know—”

“Don’t fucking tell me that I don’t know what it’s like to have a part of my life missing,” Ryan interrupts, suddenly furious again, “Not when you disappeared without a trace, and I had to deal with the fallout, Shane. Don’t you dare.”

“Then _tell me_ ,” Shane begs, and pushes himself closer to Ryan, prepared to get to his knees if need be. “Ryan I’m so— I’m actually scared. I don’t know. I don’t _know_.”

“Shane.”

“ _Please_ , Ryan.”

Ryan puts his hands over his face, breathes deep and steadying, and Shane will wait until he’s ready. He’ll wait as long as it takes.

.

It must be as hard to talk about as it is to listen to.

Ryan tells Shane about the night he disappeared: Sara’s frantic 4am phonecall when she’d gotten sick of waiting for Shane to come back. Phoning up every hospital in the county with Scott. The police report, the weeks of searching, and the news stories that followed.

It seemed as though Shane had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Unsolved never returned from the summer hiatus. Watcher folded in January 2021, a scant year after the launch. Steven moved back to New York.

“We never stopped looking,” Ryan says. “But... a lot has happened, Shane.”

“Yeah,” Shane breathes out and gets to his feet. His throat is so dry. “I need water.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, rising too, and it’s strange because Shane doesn’t really need assistance. He opens the cupboard to grab a cup, but what he finds gives him a moment’s pause.

The shelves are filled with mugs. Most of them Ryan’s.

Shane carefully takes one down, turning it over in his hand. There’s a faded Knott’s logo on the side, and Shane starkly remembers drinking from it in Ryan’s kitchen, sitting around the table with him and Steven.

He looks across the room and there are two pairs of Ryan’s sneakers set by the door next to Sara’s shoes. The picture right by the TV. To his left, there’s a small rubber duckie stuck to the kitchen faucet.

“Are you living here?” Shane asks, and Ryan takes a step back, arms folded across his torso. He looks _guilty._

“A lot of things have happened,” he says again, instead of answering directly, which Shane takes as a ‘yes’. Ryan deflates even more as Shane looks over, trying to catch his eye. Ryan seems reluctant to look back at him, face carefully blank.

“So, the boxes… are you guys moving out?” Shane prods.

“Uh, yeah, this week,” Ryan clears his throat. “We bought a house.”

“You _bought_ a house,” Shane repeats. _Bought_ , not _rented_. Bought sounds permanent, it sounds _serious_. “Together?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, instead rearranging a small vase of fake flowers on the kitchen table, the guilt _radiating_ off him in waves. Shane swallows thickly, his throat tight. His eyes feel hot.

“So… I disappear off the face of the earth, and you and Sara—” he cuts himself off once he recognizes the sharp edge in his voice, the way his heart starts pounding again. He shouldn’t be angry. Ryan would never do anything to hurt him, neither would Sara.

“I know it seems awful,” Ryan mumbles, and if he would just fucking look up at Shane, if he could stop seeming like a kicked puppy, that’d be great. “But we went through something together.”

“Is this why Sara is hiding?” Shane asks, and he knows there are other reasons too. Shane tries to put himself into her shoes, imagines if Sara had disappeared like a cloud of smoke. Would Shane have gone to Ryan for comfort too? It’s not even a question, really.

It just looks bad, when your boyfriend reappears and finds out you’re fucking his best friend now. That you’re living a whole other life with him.

“I mean, you showing up is the last thing we expected to happen tonight,” Ryan says. “Especially when, well, you don’t really have an explanation, do you?

Shane shakes his head. There’s no explanation for this. There’s no sane, scientific reasoning for how he left his apartment in 2020 and came back two years later with no memory of the time that had passed. For Shane, it felt as though _no_ time had passed. And yet here he is, looking at the evidence, looking at a worn and tired Ryan standing in front of a freshly painted wall.

“I don’t know what to do,” Shane whispers, tasting salt on his lips. There are tears spilling down his cheeks and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Ryan looks up at him, stricken, face pale. “I don’t know why— what happened?”

Ryan doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have an answer either. He just comes towards Shane with his arms open, and Shane needs something familiar, needs something good, so he just folds into Ryan and buries his face in his shoulder. He smells the same as ever, something warm and buttery, the spice of his antiperspirant, and then the faintest hint of Sara’s perfume over it all. About as familiar as it can get for Shane. This is _home_ he smells, and it’s so good, so comforting, that he can’t even find it in him to be angry for a moment. He just melts, and Ryan holds on, sniffling quietly into Shane’s ear.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Ryan asks, eventually, rubbing his hand over Shane’s back. “In the morning, we can figure out what to do.”

“Yeah,” Shane says, disentangling himself, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Couch?”

Ryan nods, turning Shane in the direction of the living room. Shane nudges off his shoes by the door, too overwhelmed to have remembered it earlier, and waits for Ryan to return with some blankets, taking them gratefully. Then Ryan stands there, awkwardly, hands at his sides.

“Usually this is the other way around, huh?” Shane says, softly. There’ve been many nights, handing off blankets to Ryan as he settles on the couch, climbing into bed with Sara where she whispers to him about how simple it’d be to just _ask_ Ryan to join them, when he was right out there already waiting. Endless nights of Shane saying _no_ and _not yet_ and _I’m not ready_. And look where that got him.

“I’m— I’m going back to bed,” Ryan says, hesitant. “Sara needs me.”

“Yeah,” Shane says, and feels nothing but an empty pit in his stomach.

“Try to get some sleep,” Ryan begins to back out of the room, and neither of them say anything more. He switches off the lights and Shane listens to him walk down to the bedroom, some shuffling inside, and then the click of the door being shut.

Moments later, a familiar fuzzy little face appears in the hallway. Obi catches sight of Shane and bristles, back arching and ears flattening in fright.

“Hey Obi Man,” Shane says, softly, and is suddenly overwhelmed at the physical transformation Obi undergoes as he hears Shane’s voice, relaxing, fur flattening and ears perking up. “Hey there furry son. Remember me?”

Obi trots across the floor leisurely, jumping up onto the couch next to Shane. When Shane reaches out with his hand, Obi butts his entire face into Shane’s palm, purring loudly.

Shane lays down on the couch and pulls his blanket up and closes his eyes. Obi climbs up onto his chest, tucking in against his neck, still purring like a little engine, obviously happy to see Shane. If Shane sheds a tear or several, it’s no one’s business.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

.

When Shane wakes, Obi is gone but he still feels the weight on his chest; it’s how he knows right away that none of the previous night had been a dream.

He blinks bleary eyes open to the ceiling above him. His eyes feel dry and sore, and he belatedly remembers he’d been wearing his contacts when he’d left the night before. Which wasn’t really the night _before_ anymore.

It’s a surprise when he looks to the left and sees his glasses sitting there on the coffee table, waiting for him. Even more of a surprise to see Sara, sat in a dining chair pulled out to the opposite side of the room. She still dressed in what looks like her pajamas, sweatpants and an oversized tee, and she has her knees drawn up to her chest, knuckles pressed against her mouth as she watches him.

“Thank you,” Shane says, quietly, as he takes his glasses from the table and carefully removes his contact lenses. He could probably do with some eye drops, but that doesn’t seem like something he can ask for right now. Sara doesn’t react to him at all, just watches him from her perch, unmoving. Shane rubs his eyes tiredly, then pushes the frames up onto his face. He looks at the clock hanging in the kitchen and realizes how early it is.

“Did you sleep?” he asks. Sara shakes her head.

“Was thinking,” she says, softly. “I can’t figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“Why you’re back.”

It hurts in a way Shane doesn’t expect it to, and he looks down at his socked feet against the rug.

“I didn’t leave, Sara. I would never leave you.”

“I know,” she says. “I know you wouldn’t, and I—”

“Is that what people think?” Shane asks, and wants to _die_ at the thought of it. People thinking he’d just upped and left without a word, not even a goodbye. What a bastard they must think he is. 

Sara doesn’t seem to be able to answer, she just shakes her head, eyes watery.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.” Shane says instead, because he can’t even come close to imagining what she’s feeling.

He goes to the kitchen, because coffee is in order, slightly more hesitant now than he had been last night. The apartment already feels less like his home. The more he searches, the less of himself he finds in his surroundings. Sara doesn’t seem to mind, though, she follows him, dragging her chair back to the table to sit down and watch him. As though he might disappear again at any second.

Shane doesn’t blame her. For all he knows, he could.

“Do you have coffee?” he asks, and Sara shakes her head again, looking up at him dolefully. She looks out of place, vibrant in front of plain white walls.

“No, I’m—” a hesitant pause. “I’ve been drinking tea,” she says, and gestures towards a new-ish looking water kettle set aside on the countertop. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” Shane says. He feels like he’s missing something big, he just doesn’t know what.

While the kettle boils, he takes a look out the window, leaning against the frame. The view looks the same as always.

Ryan emerges as the kettle finishes boiling. He smiles weakly when he sees them both, tired eyes crinkling. He leans down to kiss the top of Sara’s head, and she flinches away slightly, looking up at him wide-eyed before her gaze darts towards Shane and back again.

“Okay,” Ryan says, evenly, and Shane wonders if he’s gotten better at hiding his hurt in the past two years. “Morning.”

“Breakfast tea?” Shane asks, and Ryan nods gratefully, sliding into the chair opposite Sara.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks her, and Shane busies himself with arranging mugs on the countertop. He wonders if they all take their drinks the same way they used to. Sara doesn’t answer Ryan, not verbally anyway, though Shane thinks he sees her shift from the corner of his eye. “Got any thoughts about breakfast?”

“Anything,” Sara says. “No eggs.”

“You don’t like eggs anymore?” Shane asks, before he can stop himself, and both Sara and Ryan look over. Ryan raises his eyebrows, opening his mouth to speak when Sara cuts over him.

“Just not at the moment,” she says. “I’m trying something new.”

It’s a fair enough answer, and Shane doesn’t really have a reason to question her. He hands off their cups of tea onto the table and stays leaning against the counter to sip his own. It’s far too hot, but he needs something to do with his hands.

Ryan scrolls on his phone idly, mumbling to them about ordering breakfast. No one seems in the mood to cook, understandably. He settles on something for the three of them and then puts his phone down.

“Oh, hey, if you want to take a shower and clear your head a bit, I’m sure I’ve got something you can wear.”

Shane admittedly does feels a little gross after sleeping in his clothes all night. A hot shower sounds almost comforting.

“That’d be nice,” he says, and Ryan waves him off.

“You know where everything is.”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Sara says, and he levels her with a flat stare.

“Well he does,” Ryan replies, and then looks back up at Shane. “I’ll leave clothes on the bed for you.”

Shane mumbles his thanks and slips out past them. He grabs some towels from the closet and then ducks into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He’s suddenly aware of how much he’s ignored his body in the last twelve hours or so.

Shane showers and cleans up. There’s no toothbrush for him, obviously, so he does what he can with some mouthwash and then braces himself against the counter for a long look in the mirror.

The thing is, he doesn’t _look_ any different than he remembers. Surely in the space of two years, he would have acquired more lines, more wrinkles and creases. Not that he thinks he’d look much different at 36 than he did at 34, but sure there would _have_ to be something different about him. Ryan’s different, he’s bulkier, has deeper lines around his eyes. Sara’s hair is longer, her curls resting against her shoulders instead of neat by her chin the way she likes. Or used to like.

But Shane just looks exactly as he had before, and not a day older as far as he can tell.

It’s a troubling thought.

Shane pulls himself together, dragging a hand through his hair to slick it back off his face, hitching his towel tighter around his waist.

In the bedroom, Ryan has indeed left some clothes on the bed for him, but it takes Shane a moment to get there as he takes in his surroundings.

Almost everything is the same. The walls, the curtains the furniture. Different sheets, of course. Sara’s favorite blanket is folded at the foot of the bed.

But Ryan’s things are on the nightstand where Shane’s used to be, and it’s _jarring_. Shane has an intrusive thought, it lasts for all of three seconds, where he thinks Sara has replaced him with Ryan. As soon as the thought is there, it’s gone again, shoved down deep, and he feels _guilty_ again. Sharp, twisting.

There’s an old t-shirt of Ryan’s waiting for him. It’s worn and soft, indigo-colored with grey sleeves. Underneath there are a pair of sweats too long for Ryan’s legs, and Shane doesn’t think about it too hard before he slips them on and then gives his hair a cursory toweling. It’s still early, and Shane takes a minute to sit in a patch of sunlight on the bed and listen to the birds outside, Sara and Ryan murmuring in the kitchen, and Obi purring loudly in the armchair by the window.

For a second, he could close his eyes, and imagine he’s not trapped in his own personal hell. But he’s not ready to subject himself to that kind of torture, yet.

He pads quietly towards the kitchen again, catching snippets of Sara and Ryan’s conversation from the hall.

“...going to find out soon, it’s not exactly something we can hide for much longer,” Ryan says, and Shane hesitates at the corner, just out of sight.

“Not yet,” Sara replies, voice tight as though holding back tears. “We don’t even know how long he’ll be here for. He might disappear again.”

“You’re not the Time Traveller’s Wife, Sara,” Ryan sighs, and if Shane didn’t know better he’d say he’d detect a note of _bitterness_ , of all things.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Sara says, soft, choked. “Can we please just— we can wait. We have time.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Ryan agrees, relenting. “We have a lot to do this weekend.”

Shane steps out from around the corner as casually as he can, arms stiffly at his sides. Sara startles, still perched in her dining chair. He’s not sure if he’d actually scared her, or if she’s just not used to seeing him anymore. Ryan, however, perks up at the sight of him.

“Breakfast is on the way,” Ryan says. “You wanna sit down and talk?”

“Yeah, okay,” Shane says, because he really has very few other options.

.

They decide fairly early on that they’re not going to tell anyone about Shane in the immediate future. There are still so many questions regarding his whereabouts that he’s not ready to answer, that he doesn’t even _have_ an answer for. As much as it kills him to think about, he can’t talk to his brother or his parents just yet. 

Sometime before noon, Sara sits on the floor in the living room and begins wrapping books from the bookshelf, tucking them away into a cardboard box. Even with Shane here, with everything happening all at once, she and Ryan are still moving this week, and the apartment looks woefully unprepared. Silently, Shane sits down next to her and begins to help, giving his hands something to do.

“Oh,” Sara says, pausing with a book in her hands. For a moment, she looks perplexed, and then embarrassed. “I guess some of these books are yours, aren’t they?” she says, and Shane realizes she is in fact holding something of his, a photography book.

“I guess,” he says, and continues to wrap the shelf he’s working on.

“Don’t you want it?” Sara asks, cocking her head, that perplexed look returning. Shane shakes his head.

“Where would I put it?” he asks, and it gives Sara pause. Her shoulders slump.

“Oh,” she says, and then slowly begins to wrap said book with tissue just like the others. Shane doesn’t want it. He has nowhere to keep it. This apartment is no longer his home, and soon it won’t be Sara’s or Ryan’s either.

“Well, you know where it is if you want it,” Sara adds, quietly. Shane says nothing, he keeps packing.

It’s a few moments later when he finds it, tucked into the back of the shelf, just out of sight behind a few more books. His framed butterfly, set delicately behind glass. A gift from Sara many moons ago now. He’s not sure this is something he could let go quite so quickly.

“I would like to keep this, though, if that’s alright?” Shane asks, and Sara looks over, eyes going soft and sad in an instant.

“Oh, of course, Shane,” she says, and in comparison to that morning, her tone towards him has turned a complete one-eighty. Over breakfast he’d recounted his memory again, arguing with Sara, leaving, driving for a while, and returning home once again. After hearing it from him herself, looking him in the eye as he’d sworn to her that it was the truth, he’d watched her anger start to leach away into something less.

Shane sets the butterfly aside on the sofa. Maybe he’ll put it in his car.

It’s a couple of hours of mostly-silence later when Ryan emerges from the office, rubbing his belly under his t-shirt.

“Office packed,” he says, lightly. “Just the big furniture left in there. Who’s hungry again?”

Shane doesn’t have any appetite at all, if he’s being honest. He’d picked at the waffles they’d had delivered that morning, wilting under concerned gazes. Sara looks up at Ryan and shrugs a shoulder.

“I’m not really. But I should eat, right?”

“How about a sandwich?” Ryan asks, and there’s something tender in his voice, something Shane has only heard from Ryan after a couple of beers and a late night. Sara scratches the back of her neck.

“A grilled cheese?” she asks, and Ryan smiles at her.

“‘F course, babe,” he says. “Shane?”

“Please,” Shane says, because he supposes he needs to eat too. He’s suddenly glad that Sara’s had Ryan all this time, someone who can power through and take care of her, remind her to eat and take breaks.

Ryan rattles around in the kitchen for a half-hour, and returns with plates of sandwiches, some chips thrown on the sides. They’re greasy and overstuffed, and Sara wolfs into hers like Shane has never seen before. Ryan sits opposite them on the floor, leaning against the couch as he tucks into his own sandwich.

“See? Knew you were hungry,” he says, and Sara mumbles something that Shane doesn’t quite catch around a mouthful of cheese. “Yeah,” Ryan says, in response.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in much of the same cycle. Ryan joins them to help pack up the living room and they work quietly, methodically together. Ryan plays some Disney playlist on Spotify, humming along to it, and at some moments it feels so incredibly normal that Shane forgets what it is he’s doing and starts to sing along.

It quickly comes to a halt when they hear Sara sniffling, and Shane looks over to find her sitting on the floor, legs folded underneath herself, clearly trying not to sob while tears trickle down her face, dripping off her chin. His immediate instinct is to get to his feet, to _comfort_ , but Ryan gets there first, wrapping himself around her.

“Hey, _hey_ , it’s okay,” he says, and Shane feels frozen on the spot.

“ _This is—_ ,” Sara’s cries, “I’m so— this is so much.”

Ryan looks over at Shane, and his eyes are glossy with tears too. He can’t argue with her, so he just cups the back of her head with his palm, threading fingers through her curls, holding her face to his neck while she sobs.

“Maybe I should go,” Shane says, rising up from the floor, but Sara and Ryan both whip around to him, barking out a sharp _“No!”_ in unison. Shane sits again, feeling chastened as Sara frantically wipes at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I— I haven’t heard you sing in— in so—” she can barely finish the sentence without sobbing again, and Shane can’t even look at her, wants so badly to hold her, to kiss her and tell her how sorry he is. That he never wanted this, that he never wanted to hurt her.

Sara starts to breathe again, and Ryan carefully wipes away her tears, thumb swiping beneath the frames of her glasses like he’s done it a thousand times. Maybe he has.

“Let me make you some tea, Sar’,” Shane says, because he’s not sure what else he can do, sure that if he touches her she may just burst into tears again. And sure, it’s not very healthy of them to be bottling it all up like this, to ignore their feelings and pack them away like so many trinkets into a cardboard box, but there’s not a lot else they can do right now in this very moment.

Shane sets the kettle to boil and prepares Sara’s tea strainer, trying his absolute best to tune out Ryan and Sara’s mumblings in the living room, trying to give them privacy. Luckily, the rumble of the kettle is loud enough to distract him. When it boils, he pours water into the cup, stares down into as the tea steeps, golden yellow. He expects it to be chamomile, but he’s surprised when he catches a somewhat spicy scent instead.

He hears Sara approach before he sees her. She sniffles as she appears around the partition between kitchen and living room, arms crossed over her chest as though she’s holding herself together. Shane ducks his head and slides the mug down the countertop towards her; it is hard for him to look small, but he tries.

“Thank you,” she says, and breathes in the steam from her mug.

“I thought it would be chamomile,” Shane says, because he can’t think of anything more neutral, less upsetting. “You used to drink that.”

“It’s ginger,” Sara says, eyes on the contents of the cup. “I’m… taking a break from the chamomile.”

Shane shouldn’t be surprised that she’s changed, it’s _been_ two years. And yet.

“You left my glasses on the table this morning,” Shane says. “You kept them.”

“I worried,” Sara shrugs. “You left that night with just your contacts in. All your glasses were still here and I used to just hope you weren’t wandering around out there blind as a bat.”

She says it so casually, but he knows just how much that must have tormented her.

“Where did you think I was?” he asks, and Sara picks up her mug, holding it in both her hands. 

“Honestly? I knew you wouldn’t just up and leave like that. I knew you wouldn’t leave me, or Watcher, without a trace. And when you didn’t show up at your parents’ house in Schaumburg like everyone said you would?” Sara takes a steadying breath, one hand against the counter for support. “I... I thought you were dead.”

 _That_ hits him like a fist in the gut. Sara’s reaction to him the night before makes all the more sense now, the terror in her eyes, the noise she’d made. The way she’d gone pale — as though she’d seen a ghost.

It must have been a long two years.

“I don’t have an explanation for you,” he says quietly, and cannot for the life of him resist raising his hand to push her curls back behind her ear, cupping her jaw with his hand. “I don’t know what I can do to make you forgive me.”

“I’m not _mad_ at you,” Sara says, looking up at him, and she reaches up to cup his face in her palms. It’s the first time she’s touched him, and she seems to realize this too as her eyes widen, fractionally. “Even now, seeing you here in this space again. I’ve already been wanting things I shouldn’t.”

Shane clears his throat. He should pull back, put some space between them, but he can’t bear it. He can smell the ginger of her tea, the light floral scent of her perfume.

“You love Ryan now,” he says instead.

“Do you remember what we argued about before you left?” Sara asks him.

“Like it was yesterday,” he answers, because for him it _was_ yesterday. Sara’s so close now that Shane can feel the warmth of her seeping into him.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about the way it could have been,” she says, and sinks in close, dropping her hands to slip them around Shane’s waist. “Always wondered, if you came back, could we make things right?”

There’s nothing Shane wants more. Even just the last twelve hours have been torture, seeing the pieces of Sara and Ryan’s life together in the aftermath of his disappearance. He wants to know everything, but he’s too afraid to ask.

“Does Ryan want that?” Shane asks.

“Ask me yourself.”

Shane almost jumps out of his skin when he notices Ryan watching them, and straightens up even as Sara clings to him.

“Ask you—”

“Sara told me what you fought about,” Ryan shrugs, and Shane feels Sara turning her face against his shirt, as though embarrassed. “That night. You were arguing about me.”

Shane looks away, can’t quite hold the intensity of Ryan’s gaze. He wonders when the world is going to stop feeling like it’s been dialed up to eleven, or if he just has to live like this, feeling everything right up on the surface all of the time.

Well, if Sara’s told Ryan everything, there’s no point in dancing around it.

“You said you had everything you needed,” Shane explains. “When I asked if you wanted more.”

“Because I didn’t think you were an option!” Ryan exclaims, but he’s not angry. It’s— something else. Something desperate. “I thought you were talking about our professional future together, our business. Those ten months of Watcher with you and Steve were the happiest of my _life_. I _didn’t_ need more than that, but I _wanted_ more.”

And Shane doesn’t have anything to say to that. He has no further argument, no witty comeback. Sara is still clutching him tightly, as though making up for the past two years. She’s had a taste of holding him again, and she can’t let go now.

“Okay,” Shane says. He’s got nothing to lose. 

Both of them look at him in surprise, Ryan’s eyebrows rising and Sara pulling her head back to look up at him.

“What?” she asks.

“I said okay,” Shane repeats. “If you’ll have me, if you even still want me after I— after everything? I’m here. I’m here, and I’m sorry, and—”

Sara kisses him, stretching up onto her tiptoes to pull him down. In an instant Shane can feel Ryan crowding up against them too, pushing in like he can’t wait any longer. It’s been long enough.

.

They corral Shane into the bedroom. It’s the last thing he’d expected to come of all this, but he’s not upset about it, far from it. He’s starting to feel the years catching up with him; the memory of waking up in bed next to Sara, just yesterday in his reality, feels a million miles away in mind.

Ryan pushes him down onto the bed, climbs over him and seals their mouths together, diving in headfirst as he does with everything. He feels the mattress dip next to him as Sara joins them, feels her delicate hand against his cheek.

“What do you want, Shane?” Ryan asks him, and Shane says “Everything,” the way he wishes he’d been brave enough to before. Even with all the evidence presented to him, he hadn’t believed enough, hadn’t believed he could _have_ this. Maybe it’s time for him to open up. 

“Anything,” he corrects himself.

Sara pulls back to lift her sweater over her head, impatient, then wriggles out of her leggings. She’s not wearing anything underneath, and Shane drinks in the view; her body is almost the same as he had known it to be, just a little softer around the edges, a little more of a curve to her belly. 

“Sara,” he says, and she looks down at him, visibly nervous. “Come here.”

“I want to ride you,” she says and glances towards Ryan, who just nods as though there’s nothing else in the world he would rather see.

It’s easy to get Shane out of his borrowed clothes. He’s not quite hard all the way yet, still a little bit too on edge, but Ryan reaches out to wrap a hand around him. He’s confident in a way Shane hadn’t expected. Sara leans over him and, truly to the detriment of Shane’s stamina, licks around the head of his cock, closing her lips around it as Ryan strokes him, slow and steady. It’s a little too dry to begin, but Sara gets him wet quick enough. Soon he’s rocking up into her mouth through Ryan’s fist, aching for more.

He starts pulling away when he realizes he’s getting too close, and Sara pulls up, swiftly swinging her legs over his torso to straddle him. Ryan, still stroking Shane’s cock, guides him right to where she needs him, helping her sink down nice and easy.

“Oh fuck,” Shane breathes, and his vision swims. This is what he has needed, something so simplistically familiar as Sara over him, about to take him apart. It’s something he recognizes in the basest part of his being, the feeling of his lover all around him. She’s perfect, always has been, wet and tight around him. She rides him slow and deep, grinding onto him the way she’s always loved, the way that fills her up just right, and it’s still just as devastating for Shane as ever.

“God I missed this,” she sighs, and Shane feels her squeeze around him, like she’s testing the fit of him inside her. He tries to stifle his groan, but all his senses are being assaulted, it’s too hard to keep track of what his body is doing.

“He likes that,” Ryan says, reaching around from behind Sara to slide his fingers down between her thighs, rolling two fingers over her clit. Sara clenches again the second he touches her, and Shane moans aloud. He couldn’t move if he wanted to, he’s so boneless. He’s going to come so shamefully quickly and he has no excuse.

“You both better slow down or I’m gonna blow my load right the fuck now,” Shane grits out, and Sara looks down at him, smiling open-mouthed with her head tipped back against Ryan’s shoulder.

“Maybe you should just let it happen, Shane,” Ryan says, encouraging. “Don’t you want to come inside her? She’s been waiting so long.”

Sara shudders too with Ryan’s murmuring right by her ear and his fingers expertly rubbing her clit. She seems close already, and Ryan notices too, catching Shane’s eye and pressing his lips to the shell of Sara’s ear.

“You ready to come, sweetheart?” he asks, “Don’t you wanna come on his cock? He’ll love it, look at him. He wants it just as bad as you.”

“Ry— _oh_ fuck, _Shane_ ,” Sara gasps, as he bucks up into her. He can’t resist it anymore, feels the first growing flutters of her orgasm and just lets go, coming so hard he sees spots. Ryan praises them both, looking so pleased as he watches them, supporting Sara as she lays back against him, batting his hand away when he keeps rubbing her.

Shane watches, dazed, as Ryan helps Sara to lay down next to him. She reaches for Ryan, trailing her hand down his chest and belly, all the way down to his thick cock, stroking like she’s trying to coax him closer.

“You don’t want a break?” Ryan asks her, eyebrow raised, and Sara shakes her head, curls trembling. 

“Want you right now,” she says, nearly slurring. Shane is helpless but to watch Ryan crowd over her, reaching between them to guide himself inside. Sara gasps and arches underneath him a little, spreading her legs wider to accommodate him. Ryan doesn’t give her much time to relax, he’s relentless and hypnotic to watch. Shane, although exhausted, inches closer until he can tuck his head against Sara’s shoulder, looking down between her spread legs at the way Ryan fucks into her, how wet he is with Shane’s come.

He reaches down to touch her, a mirror of how Ryan had just made her come, and Ryan meets his eye, grinning, biting down on his lip. Sara whines at the touch, twitching like she doesn’t know whether to push Shane away or to just take it, like she doesn’t know if she can come again. Shane knows.

He slides his hand down further, spreading his fingers so that Ryan can fuck through the vee of them, and giving Sara the meat of his palm to grind against if she wants it — which she decidedly does.

“That good, hmm?” Shane asks her, peppering kisses against her shoulder, looking up at Ryan over her. “Gonna come inside her, Ry? She’s already so messy.”

Ryan’s eyes flutter closed, jaw slack as he keeps driving into Sara, picking up a little speed as he gets closer. Sara reaches down, pressing her hand down against Shane’s just to get more of that delicious friction, and he feels her starting to come again, the throb of it against his palm.

It doesn’t take Ryan long to follow; Sara’s too hard to resist like this. Shane knows it so well, and so does Ryan.

.

“How did you two end up together?” Shane asks, after, when nobody has said anything in a while. Ryan pauses the drawing of his fingers up and down Sara’s back. When she doesn’t stir, Shane thinks she might be asleep — well deserved, if so.

“It’s, um,” Ryan says, quiet like he’s noticed Sara sleeping too. “It’s not a happy story, Shane.”

“But you’re happy now?” he asks, hopeful, and Ryan smiles, nodding.

“We spent a lot of time together, after. Staying up late to call hospitals and police stations, checking local records and newspapers. Eating pizza at 1am, or drinking when we needed a break from it all. We’d fall asleep in each other’s apartments, on each other’s couches. Eventually—”

“Each other’s beds,” Shane finishes, and Ryan nods again, looking down at Sara between them, her face turned away from Shane.

“I’d do anything for her,” Ryan says, fond. “She could ask me to end the world, I’d find a way to swing it. For her.”

“Me too,” Shane sighs, looking down at her, blinking away tears. He wonders if Ryan has always felt this way. He must have, right? Going to all that trouble to comfort Sara in the wake of Shane’s disappearance. Ryan has always loved her.

“What’s that?” Sara mumbles, lifting her head from the pillow, curls stuck to the side of her face.

“Telling Shane how I’d kill God for you,” Ryan says, and it hurts for Shane to hold in his snort.

“Oh,” Sara sighs, sleepily, snuggling into him. “Good.”

.

“We should show him the house,” Ryan says to Sara, when they’re all still lying there, drinking in the evening light as it streams through the windows.

“It’ll be dark when we get there,” Sara replies, confused, and Shane looks back and forth between them like a tennis match. The flow of easy energy between them is something Shane had never expected, even when he’d entertained the idea of them all together, before.

“So? We’ll make a trip of it,” Ryan shrugs. “We’ll stop for some late-night food on the way back, knock out your Taco bell craving before it even hits.”

“Sara has a Taco Bell craving now?” Shane laughs, incredulous. He specifically remembers a Sara who would wrinkle her nose at a cheesy gordita crunch.

“Maybe a house tour is a good idea,” Sara says, in a tone Shane can’t quite decipher. She sits up off the bed and starts rummaging around for something to slip into. “We can show you all the rooms.”

“ _All_ the rooms?” Ryan interjects, and Sara looks over. It’s a strange moment for Shane, who has never before felt so out of sync with the two most important people in his life.

“Yeah,” Sara says, nonchalant, “All the rooms.”

“Sounds like you guys bought a mansion,” Shane says, laughing softly to himself. It occurs to him that he doesn’t really know what Ryan or Sara do for a living now.

“Just a nice regular house,” Ryan assures him. 

The three of them get cleaned up and dressed, Shane finding his clothes from before out of a lack of having anything else to wear. He has a few minutes where he worries about getting recognized in public before Ryan hands him a baseball cap.

“It’ll get dark out and we’ll be in the car for a while, don’t worry about it,” he says, as though he can still read Shane’s mind after all these years. Maybe he can.

They climb into Ryan’s Toyota, the new one Shane had noticed when he’d parked the night before, and hit the road around 6pm. Shane sits in the back and watches out the window, taking in everything that looks the same and everything that doesn’t.

They drive north, further than Shane had even expected, knowing how much of homebody Ryan is. The sun sets and he sits back, closing his eyes as Ryan takes them towards the mountains and Sara plays a soft, familiar playlist through the speakers. 

When he opens his eyes again they’re cruising through what looks like some kind of housing community, rows of white houses and green lawns twinkling with night lights.

Ryan pulls into the driveway of one of the houses. The front lawn is plain and empty, and all the lights are off. The headlights of the car illuminate a sunflower-yellow front door.

“Here she is,” Ryan says quietly. “Casa de Bergara-Rubin.”

Shane doesn’t know what to say. It’s so far from what he’d imagined when he’d pictured Sara living anywhere, it’s just so… _normal_. But he has no doubt she’ll shake it up to her standards soon enough. He still remembers the weekend she’d spent painting their breakfast nook in the apartment.

Ryan and Sara get out of the car, and Shane follows after a moment, hands tucked into his pockets while Sara fishes out the front door key to let them inside. 

“We’ve had some of our new furniture delivered already,” she explains. “Most of the old stuff is staying in the apartment.”

Inside, she flicks on the lights revealing an open-plan kitchen and living area. Just standing at the door Shane can see what looks like marble worktops, a breakfast island, hardwood floors in the living room.

“Holy fuck,” he says. “You can afford this place?”

Ryan shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve worked a few good gigs, and Sara’s doing pretty well for herself.”

“What do you do now?” Shane asks, slipping off his shoes at the door and walking farther into the room. There’s a new rug on the floor next to a leather sectional.

“Production, mostly, in Hollywood,” Ryan says. “I was working small jobs after Watcher fell through, but I got a lucky break into a much bigger project. Work has been steady enough since that we could apply for a mortgage on this place.”

“I left Buzzfeed,” Sara says. “I had enough savings that I could concentrate on my art for a while, started thinking beyond just prints and short stories. People took notice.”

“Wow,” Shane says, stunned.

“It’s not quite as lucrative as Ryan’s work, but I’m lucky and grateful that it’s steady.”

“There’s a small building out in the back yard, Sara’s gonna turn it into a studio,” Ryan says, pride evident in his voice. “And we’ve got enough room that I can set up an office upstairs for when I need to be at home.”

“That’s… that’s amazing,” Shane says, finally turning to face them both, finding them hovering by the front door. “I’m happy for you both. I’m glad you’re okay.”

It’s a bit of an awkward moment, and Sara wrings her hands in front of her, brow furrowing.

“Would you like to see upstairs?” she asks, and takes a step towards the staircase. Shane nods, makes to follow her with Ryan taking up the rear. Shane is overwhelmed by the sheer size of the house around him, and the fact that it’s Ryan and Sara’s. Together.

There’s an empty guestroom at the top of the hall, next to Ryan’s supposed new office, a desk and office chair inside, the main bathroom just across for easy access. The master bedroom already has a bed assembled in it, king-size from what Shane can tell. It’s bare, though, obviously unslept in.

And then there’s another room, and Shane is silently lamenting the fact that they can afford a four-bed in this economy, when he steps inside and realizes just how small it is. A box room, really.

“What would you even use this room for,” he laughs, looking around him. It’s empty for the moment, save for some boxes, some light gauzy curtains. The walls are painted a soft cream.

“It’s, uh. It’s the nursery,” Sara says.

Shane snorts, reacting before he fully processes what that means. Sara and Ryan. Buying a house together. Planning for the future. Planning for _kids_. _Together_.

“Oh,” he says, and when he turns, he finds them watching him with that same careful look from downstairs. “You guys are really thinking about the future, huh,” he says, hates that he sounds a little breathless with it.

Sara’s eyes are big and shining, like the severity of the situation is hitting her too, and she opens her mouth as though she wants to say something, but closes it just as quickly. The silence stretches for a moment, and Sara just keeps looking at him, eyes wide and glossy. Ryan sighs quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder, squeezing her close as she blinks hard, tears spilling over.

“It’s gonna happen sooner than you think, Shane,” he says. “We— we didn’t plan for it, but we’re trying to, now.”

It doesn’t register right away, what they’re trying to tell him. But when it does, it slams into him like a freight train, almost knocking him off his feet. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to speak, to ask _what the hell are you talking about_. The words get lost past a soundless “ _What_.”

“We were waiting to tell you until things were better,” Sara says, quiet panic in her voice. “But then earlier, in bed— I thought you would notice.”

Shane can’t stop looking from her to Ryan, back again. 

“How— how long?” he asks.

“About thirteen weeks,” Sara says. “I guess I’m not showing that much, yet.”

There’s no chair for Shane to sit on in this empty room, so he leans against the wall, taking slow steady breaths.

“We found out pretty early on. We were already looking at smaller places,” Ryan explains. “But the circumstances changed very fast.”

“Uh-huh,” Shane says, with little feeling. He’s numb. He’s exhausted.

He wants to go home, but he’s not sure where that is.

“You wanna go home?” Ryan asks, because of course he’s inside Shane’s head. He always has been.

“Yeah,” Shane croaks, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes out between the two of them, spills into the hall before they can even react. “Let’s— let’s go.”

.

They stop at a Taco Bell drive-thru late in the evening and park up to eat. Sara is quiet and content in the passenger seat, and Shane watches her as she eats. He picks at his own food, distractedly. The little things are starting to make sense. No eggs or coffee for Sara in the morning, the ginger tea for nausea, the unusual cravings. Ryan, so careful, making sure she ate even when she didn’t feel like it.

Everything feels wrong.

“You’re the third person we’ve told,” Sara says, when they’re back on the road, “We told Ryan’s parents when we showed them the house. His mom cried.”

“I bet,” Shane hums. He can picture it in his mind. Even before this, Linda _loved_ Sara, would make a beeline to talk to her at parties or visits to the Watcher office. She must be overjoyed at the idea of a curly-haired grandbaby.

He can’t bring himself to engage in more chitchat, hums and agrees when they throw questions to him, but no one pushes the conversation beyond a sentence or two at a time. He ignores their concerned glances, closes his eyes again, pretends he can’t still feel their hands on him. He knows there’s no space for him between them anymore. Maybe there never was in the first place. 

He missed his chance. The universe has decided to torture him, and there is no explanation as to why, nothing he can tell anyone without sounding batshit insane. Sara and Ryan have treated him kindly, but even he can see the confusion in their eyes, the way they keep glancing at him as though to make sure he’s still there. He could be gone again in the blink of an eye.

Shane’s phone sits in his pocket, a dead brick; he’d tried to charge it during breakfast, but nothing had happened. It hasn’t worked since it died the previous night. He traces the shape of it in his pocket with his finger, and wonders if he really needs it when everyone already thinks he’s dead.

They walk back up to the apartment in the dark. Ryan unlocks the door and Obi comes running, weaving in around their legs and crying for attention.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Sara says, rubbing one eye beneath the frames of her glasses. “I’m exhausted from— everything.”

Shane can’t help but huff a little laugh at the understatement. He smiles at her, fond, as she stretches up to kiss Ryan on the cheek, and then rises onto her tiptoes to get Shane too. A simple gesture, but meaningful none the less.

Ryan goes to the kitchen and runs the faucet, returns with a glass of water for himself and one for Shane, setting it down on the table in front of him.

“You keeping it together?” Ryan asks, kind and forgiving in a way Shane isn’t sure he deserves.

“Barely,” he says, honestly. Ryan sits next to him on the couch, pulling his legs up to cross them.

“I know in the grand scheme of things, two years seems like a short time for all of this to happen,” he says, and Shane nods. “I swear, Shane, the baby wasn’t planned at all. We hadn’t even _talked about—_ Sara wanted to move into a new apartment, we weren’t even thinking about a house when it was just going to be the two of us.

“And then Sara was feeling run down and made an appointment with the doctor and… we found out. We didn’t know what to do, spent days just talking and agonizing about what we wanted. But I love Sara. I’ve always loved her, and now I want to be with her for as long as she’ll have me. I want to be a _dad_.”

“You sound like you have everything you want,” Shane says, and Ryan levels him with a look that can only say, _we’ve talked about this._ He reaches out, palm against Shane’s thigh.

“Not everything,” he says, and squeezes when Shane scoffs, and tries to pull away.

“Ryan, c’mon. I don’t know where I even fit into this life you’ve both made now. I— I don’t know where I fit _anywhere_.”

“No, Shane, please,” Ryan scoots closer, pulling Shane towards him. “You were _there_ earlier, you remember what it felt like. The three of us? That’s where you fit.”

“Not when you and Sara are— are buying a house and having a kid together. Not when I’ve missed out on the past two years of your lives, when I’ve made you suffer like that?”

“But you’re back now,” Ryan says, petulant. “And yeah, these next few weeks and months are going to be fucked up but _god_ , I know it’ll be worth it to have you back again.”

“We can’t pick up where we left off,” Shane says, and Ryan looks as though he wants to fight, like he might snarl or snap or _bite_. Shane would welcome it, honestly. He’s tired of being handled with care. 

Ryan surprises him by pulling back, hands dropping away from Shane.

“No we can’t,” he agrees. “But we can make something better.”

For someone who plans for the worst in every situation, Ryan makes it sound so easy, 

Eventually he sighs, getting to his feet. 

“I’m gonna go to bed too. Are you coming?”

Shane shakes his head, though a small part of him is grateful for the invitation.

“No, thank you. I just want to think for a while. Please.”

“Okay,” Ryan says softly, reaching out to run his fingers back through Shane’s hair, and Shane leans into the touch, savoring the moment. “Maybe you’ll come and join us later if you feel like it.”

Shane sighs as Ryan pulls away again. “Don’t wait up for me,” he says, watching Ryan’s form retreating down the hall.

.

Shane tosses and turns for a while on the sofa. He’s uncomfortable in his jeans and button-up, but the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d borrowed had been left in the bedroom, and he can’t retrieve them without waking one or both Ryan and Sara.

He drinks some more water, tiptoeing around the living room, around all half-packed boxes and rolls of bubble wrap. Nothing feels quite right to him, and he can’t stop looking at that freshly painted wall. He wonders how many layers of white it took for them to cover up Sara’s paint, to give the new residents a clean slate. Or maybe, give Sara herself a clean slate.

There’s nothing of Shane’s left here anymore. Even his butterfly had been tucked away out of sight. Nothing of his fits here anymore, least of all him.

It had been even worse in the new house, all those big rooms and high ceilings. Even when he’d been standing there he couldn’t picture himself in that space, and yet Ryan and Sara had seemed right at home.

 _Because it is their home now_ , Shane reminds himself. Their house with the studio and the office and the nursery. The huge back garden for their kid to run around. The garage for Ryan to hang a basketball hoop off. The flower bed for Sara to grow heathers in.

It’s perfect for them, and Shane hates it.

And who is he anyway to bring his negativity into this perfect life they’re forming? He’s always going to be a shadow hanging over them for as long as he stays, always a reminder of what could have been.

Shane doesn’t fit here anymore.

He missed his chance, somehow, for reasons he can’t explain. Maybe he never deserved it in the first place.

His car is still in the parking space where he left it. He throws his phone into the center console, turns his key in the ignition, flicks on the headlights to illuminate the lot.

He’s got some cash in his wallet still, and emergency gas money tucked into the glovebox. It might just be enough to get him to Illinois. He just wants to get to his parents’ house. It’s the one place he knows he still belongs in.

He starts driving.

.

Shane wakes with a start, heart pounding. There’s someone banging on the window of his car, and he squints in the sunlight at the purple and black blob, reaching for his glasses on the passenger seat.

And it’s Sara.

It’s _Sara_ , peering in at him with her brows knitted together in concern.

“I was _worried_ about you, asshole,” she yells, muffled through the glass, and Shane pulls back to get a better look at her. She’s wrapped in her fluffy purple bathrobe, and her hair is in disarray but — unless Shane is hallucinating — it is decidedly chin-length. “Try answering your phone once in a while.”

Shane scrambles for the door handle with one hand and his phone with the other.

“It was dead!” he says, “My phone is— huh.”

 _7 missed calls — Sara Love_ ❤

Shane looks up at her, one foot out of the car, eyes wide in surprise.

“I thought it was dead,” he says, confused. “I thought— Sara what day is it?”

“It’s Saturday, Shane, and I’m out here at 7am freezing my ass off because I thought you didn’t come home last night,” Sara says, rightfully snappish.

“I’m— sorry, fuck,” Shane sighs, and pushes himself out of the driver’s seat as Sara crowds into his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso. “Sara, I’m so sorry. I don’t know—”

“It’s okay,” Sara says, seemingly happier now that she’s holding him. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I’m sorry I freaked out yesterday.”

“It’s _okay_ , Shane,” Sara says again, pulling back to look up at him. “Are _you_ okay? I was thinking, and if you’re really this anxious about messing things up with Ryan, we can table the whole thing, okay? We can wait for as long as you want, or maybe we’ll never make a move, and that’ll be okay.”

“No,” Shane says, and Sara’s eyebrows rise. “That’s the opposite of what I want.”

Sara’s eyes soften, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Shane sighs, “I guess I had uh, a dream? About the three of us— _not_ like that.”

Sara wiggles her eyebrows at him, and grins, and Shane is suddenly struck by a memory of the other Sara, Sara from the future who had barely smiled at him at all.

“Go on,” she urges him.

“I just… I realized that the thing I want is worth the risk.”

“ _Oh_ , Shane.”

“I’ll be happy with you forever, Sara. We’ll be happy with Ryan, too.”

“Yeah,” Sara whispers, reaching up to cup his face, pulling him down into a kiss, sweet and warm in the cool morning air. Shane shivers and pulls her closer. She nuzzles his cheek as he pulls back from her, looking down at her with brand new eyes.

“How about we give Ryan a call? Ask him out to breakfast,” he suggests.

Sara laughs, “This early on a Saturday?”

“He’d swing it, for you,” Shane says, and Sara blushes right to the tips of her ears.

.

Ryan answers groggily, voice rough, blinking at a facetime call he certainly had not expected. He’s half-submerged among his pillows and sheets, hair on end, sleep-flushed and unshaven, as beautiful as Shane has ever seen him.

“Hey guys,” he croaks, pressing his glasses onto his face clumsily. “S’early. What’s going on?”

Shane wants to push him into the pillows and kiss him right back to sleep, and knows Sara wants it just as much. 

“We were thinking breakfast date,” Shane says, brave as he’ll ever be. “You in?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I am also surprised Ryan didn't suggest Alien Abduction as a theory.


End file.
